Monday, October 14, 2013

I'm going to just throw it out there and confess that my vagina really stresses me out. Sometimes we're cool with each other. She does her thing, I do mine. We're like roommates that get along but we don't necessarily hang out, giggle and compare anal bead stories. But sometimes, I really, really fucking hate her. Like I want to take a dump and hide it somewhere she can't find it and watch her confused, stressed out face everyday and secretly laugh at her pain. By this time you're probably feeling kind of bad for my peesh so let me defend myself.

1. Does she fit in with the cool kids?

Every so often I have a panic attack and experience some intense insecurity that my vagina is weird. This has led me to Google "normal and abnormal vaginas" at 4 a.m. after chugging a bottle of wine and maybe taking an Ambien, accidentally on purpose. Word of advice, NEVER Google "abnormal vagina." I seriously had nightmares for days. I'm barfing in my mouth a little just thinking about it. Also when your gay best friend comes over and discovers that you've been googling vaginas shit can get kind of weird.

I had a particularly life altering meltdown after a guy friend told me a story about this girl he'd been wanting to penetrate and how before she even took off her panties he could smell her downstairs. This was maybe the most traumatizing story I ever heard. Worse than the time my friend texted me that she'd been penetrated in both her holes by two different people in one night and felt like a double-stuffed Oreo. Re-reading this makes me realize how fucked up the people I surround myself with are. Awesome.

Anyway, all I could think about the rest of the night was if some dude had told that exact same story but about my lady parts. Is it like when you have constant B.O. but you can't smell it because you're immune to your own stink? Then I started thinking about all the other weird things that could be going on down there and every dude who'd been all up in my business was just too polite to be like "Hey, what the fuck?" So of course I decided it was completely necessary to text all the people in my phone that had been lucky enough, or smart enough to get me super drunk, to ride this train. Honestly I don't know what I would do if some dude that I hadn't talked to in months, or maybe even more like years, texted me out of the blue, "Hi. How are you? Also, is my dick weird?" Because that's exactly what I texted; well asking about my vagina obviously. I already know my dick is awesome.

I actually got positive feedback. Most dudes didn't even seem weirded out by my question. And the fact that three of them even said they'd come over and take a look again if I was down made me feel better about the whole situation. Except of course until I saw that one of the dudes had Instagramed my text. Thanks Will you assfuck. But the fact that I even felt that crazy that I needed gratification from some idiots that I don't even like as people really pisses me off. Fuck you vagina.

2. She's selfish.

If my vagina is unhappy then my entire life is ruined. There is no fun to be had if something's wrong with her. Those tampon commercials where all the girls are skipping around and wearing all white and holding hands and shit? That is not real life. A man made that tampon commercial and I hope he dies in a car fire.

The true story involves a girl dressed in super unattractive sweatpants, sobbing into her dog's fur while he struggles to get away and then forcing everyone nearby to watch Never Been Kissed over and over until someone slips her a muscle relaxer to make the hell end. Put that on primetime and suck it.

Also if she decides that she wants to have a gentlemen friend hang out in her for a little while all common sense immediately falls out of my ass. Suddenly you find yourself in the front seat of your Yaris honking the horn with your ass and pretending that no one walks through a parking lot at night. Or all I want to do is lay in my bed and watch Snapped but she forces me to make myself attractive so she can try to get it in. See, like I said, SELFISH. We're like Snooki and JWoww. Without the fake tans.

3. High maintenance like an OC housewife.

I could probably have a nicer car and maybe take a vacation but no, my vagina needs things. Because she stresses me out so much and is an attention whore I have to keep her well maintained. I really don't want anyone all up in my downstairs unless we're having an adult sleepover and I've downed a bottle of booze. However, I also don't want one of my man friends to have to excavate to find my clitoris. Thus I've become extremely comfortable with my girl Raj who rips hair off of my labia once a month. This is an awkward experience. Dudes, if you discover that a girl you're penetrating has a hairless kitty you should show some gratitude. Seriously. A round of applause wouldn't be overkill in my opinion. Imagine meeting someone for 8 seconds and then immediately letting them put a spotlight on your no touch zone and slather hot wax all up in your asshole. Exactly. Vaginas are a nightmare.

4. She's like the embarrassing uncle that gets drunk and touches everyone.

My vadge has a way of getting me involved in awkward situations. Like when my parents failed to tell me that the room they moved me into, when I decided to have a mid-life crisis and try to discover what it all means while not paying bills, had see through curtains. The last thing you want is to make eye contact with a next door neighbor when you're wearing your albino birthday suit. Thanks mom and dad.

Or the time that I thought I had the herpes and forced my friend's boyfriend who is a Murse (man nurse for those of you out of the loop) to look at my downstairs. You can't help but walk with your head down in shame when a guy who is normally so pleasant sighs sadly, says "That's an ingrown hair. Clearly." and then asks you not to hug him until you put your pants back on. If I had a penis this would never happen. Or I'd already have waved it in everyone's face so it wouldn't be a big deal if I put it on the kitchen table during a game of flip cup. Bad, bad kitty.

I know I've been throwing a lot of shade in the direction of my basement. I mean I guess I should be grateful that I don't have one of the nasty boxes that showed up during my Google nightmare. Also I've seen a group of teenagers scream when they saw an African American vagina because they thought it was STD ridden and/or burned beyond recognition.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

I've often made the argument to friends when they cry over a few dozen bottles of wine that they're too fucked up for a relationship and there aren't any guys out there who want to put up with their bullshit that it isn't true. My go-to is that everyone in our age bracket has baggage and has at least two crazy exes and a handful of restraining orders, so of course there is someone out there who can handle our type of crazy. Lately though I've had less and less inspiring words to say. I think I might have resigned myself to dying alone and I might truly hate people. I joke about it all the time, but I might actually just be done with the human race. Don't bother passing your Xanax prescriptions this way ya'all. That's like candy at this stage.

Obviously I care about my family and my friends. But everyone else? Meh. The other day when I was buying some hummus and kale, hummus being wine flavored and kale being Cheez-Its, the dude working the case register asked me if I wanted to donate to knee cancer or some shit. I actually was offended. No, I did not want to donate $5 to knee cancer and why are you all up in my shit? A year ago I would have donated $5, wrote my name super pretty and drawn a big heart on the the little card thing they give you, and felt all kumbiyah and shit towards mankind or whatever. Now I just don't understand why this guy is talking to me and I've decided I'm ordering everything I need in life online. People are just, unnecessary.

I think the moment when I decided that I just didn't feel like people were worth the effort was when my last ex said that since we'd already been together for 6 months he just felt like he shouldn't have to try anymore. Honestly, what the fuck does that even mean? That sounds like something you'd say about a video game. You try beating it for 6 months, that weird monster with the three tits keeps killing you in the 23rd level so you just decide, fuck it I don't want to try anymore and play a different game. Can you just decide one day that you're going to stop trying at your job? Do you stop loving your family after a few years because you "have them" now and don't need to try anymore? The fact that people actually feel this way is really depressing. If I had feelings, I might even cry about it.

It's probably my abandonment issues haunting my vagina but I always manage to find the guy that either doesn't care about anything, or the guy that cares about all the wrong things. Like the guy that doesn't care if he gets to work on time, or has that 6th beer when he knows it's a bad idea, or says that really mean thing that he knows is going to make you cry but does it anyway and then gives a half-assed apology. Man, I fucking LOVE that guy. Seriously, if you're reading this call me.

Even worse is the guy that talks about how much he cares about his family and friends but then texts while you're trying to tell him how you're worried about losing your job or convinces you that you're only fun when you're super stoned because you won't hold him accountable for being a fucking child. That guy is super awesome. Here's hoping he dies in a car fire. Joking, maybe.

What these two common breeds of worthless human beings have in common is the self-righteosness. Why does the world owe you something? Did you cure cancer? Because it definitely wasn't knee cancer since Ralphs is still trying to stop that. Did you save a hundred orphans from a burning fire? No, you have not. I'd say the only worthy thing you've done is not procreate successfully. So congratulations on that.

But thanks to these awful human beings I can't be a real person. Currently I'm talking to a really decent guy. He texts me just to see how my day was. He buys me pizza and whiskey and finds some really awful stand up to put on when I've had a super shitty day. He wants to hang out with me all the time. And I can't deal with it. I bail on plans. I wait an hour to respond to his texts. I do all the shit that I hate. I know I should feel shitty about it but I don't feel anything. I just shrug my shoulders and watch another episode of Boardwalk Empire. Which probably also isn't great for my mental health since EVERYONE DIES.

In all actuality I don't know that I can convince myself that people are decent and there are good ones out there. Maybe I should just start being pen pals with prison inmates. Obviously all prison inmates are just misunderstood hot dudes from biker gangs right? Shit I hope I still have some of that stationary with my name in flowers...